路傍呼救 A Cry for Help by the Road
他在那大路傍,妝做個跌折腿的道士,腳上血淋淋,口裡哼哼的,只叫:「救人!救人!」卻說這三藏仗著孫大聖與沙僧,歡喜前來。正行處,只聽得叫:「師父救人!」三藏聞得,道:「善哉!善哉!這曠野山中,四下裡更無村舍,是甚麼人叫?想必是虎豹狼蟲諕倒的。」這長老兜回駿馬,叫道:「那有難者是甚人?可出來。」他在那大路傍,妆做个跌折腿的道士,脚上血淋淋,口里哼哼的,只叫:「救人!救人!」却说这三藏仗著孙大圣与沙僧,欢喜前来。正行处,只听得叫:「师父救人!」三藏闻得,道:「善哉!善哉!这旷野山中,四下里更无村舍,是甚么人叫?想必是虎豹狼虫諕倒的。」这长老兜回骏马,叫道:「那有难者是甚人?可出来。」
逐句解 Line by line
There by the high road he got himself up as a Daoist with a broken leg, blood dripping down his foot, groaning and moaning, crying only: “Save me! Save me!”
妝做 (zhuāng zuò), “to disguise oneself as, to feign being.” 跌折腿 (diē zhé tuǐ), “to have fallen and snapped a leg.” 哼哼 (hēng hēng) renders the sufferer's moaning — the pose completes the trap the disguise began.
Now Tripitaka, relying on the Great Sage Sun and Sha Monk, came happily along.
仗著 (zhàng zhe), “leaning on, with the backing of” — the durative 著 (zhe) of continued reliance. With his two guardians at hand, the master travels without fear — the very security the demon means to exploit.
Just as they went, they heard a cry: “Master, save me!”
正行處 (zhèng xíng chù), “just as they were going along.” 聽得 (tīng de), “heard” — the potential-resultative 得 (de); the cry is now framed as the pilgrims hear it, addressed to the “Master.”
Tripitaka heard it and said: “Merciful Heaven, merciful Heaven! In these wild hills, with never a hamlet on any side — who can be crying? Surely someone frightened witless by tigers, leopards, wolves, or serpents.”
善哉 (shàn zāi), “how good! / merciful indeed,” a Buddhist exclamation of compassion. 諕 (xià) is the loan-graph for 嚇, “to frighten”; 諕倒, “scared into collapse.” The master's first instinct is pity, not suspicion.
The Elder reined his fine horse around and called: “Who is it that's in distress? Come out.”
兜回 (dōu huí), “to rein about, to turn (a mount) back.” 有難者 (yǒu nàn zhě), “one in distress, one met with calamity” — 難 read nàn, “trouble, peril,” not nán, “difficult.” 甚人, “what person, who,” the interrogative shén.
The trap is now fully set: to the disguise of a holy adept the demon adds the pose of a helpless victim — a broken leg, dripping blood, piteous moans. The scene cuts to the pilgrims coming happily along, secure in Pilgrim's protection, and the two threads meet in the cry “Master, save me!” The storyteller's craft lies in the timing: the appeal reaches Tripitaka precisely when his guard is down.
Tripitaka's response is pure character. Where Pilgrim would suspect, the master exclaims in compassion — “merciful Heaven!” — and at once supplies a sympathetic explanation: some poor soul frightened by beasts. His reining about to call the sufferer out is the first fatal step of a benevolence the demon has engineered to be his undoing. The graph 難, read nàn (“in distress”), quietly frames the fiend as an object of pity.